


A Song They Sing (Of Their Home)

by findafight



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Clone Trooper Culture (Star Wars), Depersonalization, Forgiveness, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Post-Order 66 (Star Wars), Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29816340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findafight/pseuds/findafight
Summary: After weeks of travelling from spaceport to spaceport and listening to the natborns whinge about the sand in their armour or the rough clothes they use to be less conspicuous, CC-2224 finally spots an almost-familiar figure draped in brown robes. It is surprisingly unsubtle for someone meant to be in hiding. He does not see the face of the hermit wandering away from Mos Espa, but there is a pull in his chest and a screaming in his mind that tells him he has found Kenobi.---Post order 66 au where Cody is ordered to finish what he started, and along the way remembers himself.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 16
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from Sweet Baby James by James Taylor. Based on my own [textpost](https://findafight.tumblr.com/post/639975664204890112/ah-fuck-im-going-have-to-write-a-codywan-au)  
> cw in end notes

The locals only gesture towards the Wastes when asked about the hermit, none of them wanting to stick their nose into anything resembling Empire business. With their planet being backwater by even Outer Rim standards CC-2224 has heard the natborns in charge of their mission say they don’t blame them; most of those inhabiting the world are too focused on surviving another day to be concerned by the politics of the Empire. It frustrates him and does nothing to quench the unexpected and burning _need_ in his chest to find the fugitive. Though mildly annoyed at the vagueness of the answers they receive, that is not what bothers the trooper about this assignment.

The problem he has with the mission is that he is unsure if his determination to find the traitor Kenobi is based on the orders to correct his own failure to kill him at Utapau or on the odd feeling that tingles at the back of his head and makes his stomach drop in a way that’s full of more feeling than CC-2224 knows he should be capable of. It is a malfunction for a clone to have anything more than a shadow of emotion that is unhelpful to the Empire. 

Despite that, CC-2224 will not say anything that will get him decommissioned. Another malfunction. His third, and most damning, is the headache inducing dreams that have only gotten worse since his arrival on Tatooine. 

He cannot remember them when he wakes, gasping for breath with sweat sliding down his back. It’s not the dreams, necessarily, that give him headaches, but the panic and fear and _guilt_ —that no good clone soldier should feel— that made him bolt upright with a name of a traitor on his lips and pain at his temples. Having to focus on finding the traitor on Tatooine only makes the dreams worse, the overwhelming _feeling_ of all the dreams and impressions of memories (of a fond smile, of a familiar tone saying _my dear_ _commander_ , of contentment settling in his chest at the smell of Alderaanian tea) He doesn’t know what to do with them all.

He does not let them affect his work.

He is not the Commander of the team assigned to find Kenobi, of course. He is a clone, and therefore not an officer no matter how high his rank was in the wars before the Empire. Clones are not citizens of anywhere, that status is unchanged from republic days, though it feels slightly different. Before the Jedi betrayed the republic his siblings may not have been citizens, but at least some of them had the briefest chance to be considered _people_ by their Gener-(CC-2224 cuts off that train of thought. His only loyalty is to the Empire. The Jedi are _traitors_.)

CC-2224 should not be struggling as he is with associating their target with treachery; should know that Kenobi is a dangerous man. He does in the abstract way that he knows any jedi is dangerous to their enemies, but whenever he tries to recall anything the _traitor_ would do during the war his _own_ traitorous mind supplies nothing but the buzz of adrenaline in his fingers at a blue lightsaber’s hum beside him or the swooping relief at finding a bobbing spot of red hair in a sea of droids. He doesn’t know what to do with them, these malfunctions that give him impressions that do not align with the truth the Empire tells of a war he lived through four years ago. 

So, he follows orders (good soldiers follow orders) to look for Kenobi on Tatooine and doesn’t tell medical about the headaches or dreams or feelings. He treks through the desert, listening to the stormtroopers prattle on about how much they wish they could just kill Kenobi or bring him to Vader when they find him. CC-2224 does not participate, as clones do not participate in anything other than official orders, and besides, the only thing he can add is that four troopers—three of which are not clones and are therefore unfamiliar with Force users’ fighting— stand no chance of apprehending even a padawan, let alone a former member of the High Council. They will locate Kenobi then report his whereabouts to Vader, handing off the assignment to an Inquisitor or the Sith Lord himself; someone far more capable of apprehending the traitor.

After weeks of travelling from spaceport to spaceport and listening to the natborns whinge about the sand in their armour or the rough clothes they use to be less conspicuous, CC-2224 finally spots an almost-familiar figure draped in brown robes. It is surprisingly unsubtle for someone meant to be in hiding. He does not see the face of the hermit wandering away from Mos Espa, but there is a pull in his chest and a screaming in his mind that tells him he has found Kenobi. He follows the figure through the dunes, hands shaking and lump in his throat despite his training to be unaffected. Something stops him from comming the other squad members, that same pull telling him he needs to see where it is ~~his General~~ the _traitor_ is ~~safe~~ _eluding justice_ himself. He needs to _know_ though he doesn’t know _why,_ and that is a frightening thread of non-conformity he dares not follow. Not now. Not ever.

He walks in Kenobi’s footsteps, knowing that the fugitive knows he’s there. ~~His general always knew when he was at his side.~~ CC-2224 watches from afar as his target pauses in front of a hut set in the cliffs, moves as though he’ll look back over his shoulder at his tail but stops himself and steps into the darkness.

As he stares at where his general had stood, the trooper can hear his blood rushing through his ears and his breaths come in uneven huffs. The sun has set, and there’s a long walk back to where his teammates are based, but the clone is having trouble making his legs work. Five hundred metres away is a man that he feels he has known, but is just out of reach and something is trying to twist that knowledge into something dark. There’s a whisper of a voice, words unclear but tone fondly amused and a warmth blooming in this chest with it. The comfort of knowing and being known that only comes from fighting back-to-back like the Mandalorian warriors of old. CC-2224 does not remember fighting alongside anyone in such a way.

He can’t take this. The almost-feelings of a life long gone. The broken promises he cannot remember at the tip of his tongue.

He pushes the wisps of memories down and turns on his heel to trudge back to Mos Espa and the Empire. 

  
  


The natborns are pleased he did the grunt work of tracking Kenobi; relieved that they can finally get a transport to a Star Destroyer to report their findings and be done with Tatooine. CC-2224 cannot recall ever feeling more dread(though he is beginning to suspect he does not remember everything he’s lived clearly. He has probably felt like this at some point befo-). Sand pours from boots and is shaken from underblacks, and the farther they are from the desert planet the more uneasy the clone becomes. 

His teeth ache with the _wrongness_ of leaving Kenobi alone and exposed, instincts the Empire couldn’t take away from a time passed overwhelming him. It’ll be a long twenty-seven hours of hyperspace until the get to the _Executioner,_ leaving him time to push all these unsanctioned doubts away. If Vader gets a whiff of anything other than the blankness a clone’s mind should be, he could be decommissioned ( and his General would be in _danger_ ).

He showers efficiently, changing into clean blacks and tries to get his minimum required sleep. It is elusive, and he doesn’t know how long he stares at the bottom of a bunk, repeating the mantra _Good soldiers follow orders. My orders were to kill Kenobi, failing that they were to find him. Good soldiers follow orders._ _I have followed mine._ It rings hollow against the weight of something in him that _knows_ more than he is aware. 

For the rest of the trip in hyperspace CC-2224 falls back into the pressing blankness, moving mechanically on habit and routine; his body moves with little input from him, and that worries him when it shouldn’t. He monitors course while thought of the hunched form of Kenobi trudging through the Wastes forms a lump in his throat; makes small repairs as a clawing in his head calls for him to go back, to _protect_ ; lies awake as he can’t shake the feeling that the bunkroom is too quiet, too small _._ The blankness cannot mask the _wrongness_ seeping into CC-2224’s awareness. 

It frightens him when it should not, the missing pieces of what he once might have been. The only thing he should know is the embrace of conformity and orders, but he doesn’t. He remembers shadows of memories. Siblings piling into bunks after nightmares, laughing at shared stories of reckless Generals, teasing with a lifted eyebrow that is pointedly ignored. The more he fights it, the more persistent the memories (for that must be what they are) become. 

He has not always been a flesh-droid, he knows this now. Something happened to him and his siblings that erased anything that they were _before_ , and it took away everything they had made for themselves. The same thing that keeps the memories out of reach destroyed whatever peace they could have brought with the clones’ own unwilling hands. The realization makes anger spike in him, a stronger feeling than he’s experienced in _years_ , and that fuels the rage at the injustice of it all even more. He and countless siblings he cannot identify have had futures none of them remember dreaming of (but _must_ have, if the way his heart aches thinking of it is any indication) ripped away from them by the blankness twisting around their minds.

He tries not to fight it as they approach the _Executioner,_ to let it consume him again, push down the righteous fury and not let his malfunctions show. It is difficult, now that he’s started to realize that the empty space where a natborn’s personality would be not only exists but has shards of _something_ in it that was removed forcibly. The anger can come later, after they report their findings and he is able to formulate a plan, sort through the memories.

By the time he is walking the familiar grey halls of a Star Destroyer, he has come to terms with his malfunctions. He can no longer follow orders without severe resistance (he dares not think of what he’d do if he were ordered to kill Kenobi. _Again_.) and will be decommissioned. That does not mean he will go without a fight. CC-2224 may not remember who he was but he knows it was not someone who would go down easily, and he still isn’t. The last thing he can do to the Empire that tore his own self away from him is make it hard for it to kill him.

So when he and the three natborns are summoned, he stands at attention and leans into the darkness in his mind. The deep rasping breaths signal that it is indeed Darth Vader who will listen to their debrief, making it all the more important for CC-2224 to let the blank space take control if he wants to do anything but die here and now. 

Vader stops in front of them with a flutter of black cape, and looks at the four troopers for a long moment before speaking, interrupted by his respirator breathing for him. “You have...found Kenobi?”

The commander of their unit nods, the movement stilted by someone unfamiliar with his armour. “Yes sir! CC-2224 identified the traitor, sir.”

Vader’s attention skips to him at the other trooper’s gesture. “CC-2224...are you a clone?” 

CC-2224 salutes before answering. “Sir yes sir.”

“What was you unit...during the clone wars?” which is...unexpected from the sith. They haven’t even told him where Kenobi is, yet he asks questions that could be considered _personal._

“The 212th sir.”

“So you are familiar with _Kenobi_.”

“That’s why I was assigned this mission, sir. To finish what we failed at on Utapau.” the words twist out of him, tearing at his lungs as he says them.

Vader breathes, simply looking at him. “Where is he?” It is directed at CC-2224, not his commander, and he senses the others shift uncomfortably at the lack of procedure.

“Tatooine, sir.”

There is an invisible fist crushing his windpipe before the final syllable is out, pushing him roughly against the wall. He does not grip at his throat, but it’s a near thing with his feet dangling off the floor and a gasp from one of his unit.

“ _Lies._ ’ Vader grits out. “you _lie_ , clone. He is not...on that hellhole.”

CC-2224 can only gurgle in reply, before he is released to collapse on the ground. He gasps for air in his bucket, wanting to push it off but knowing it would only make things worse.

Above him, Vader pauses from where he was sweeping away and turns. “Take off your helmet.” he orders.

Scrambling up, he obeys, and stands at attention. He hears Vader exhale harder than normal, and does not think it is sympathy for the long scar trailing around his eye.

“Ah. I see. Trooper, you identified this...imposter?” a nod. “Then you will be the one who observes him...while the rest of your unit is...useful to the Empire’s search… This position will be...permanent. Understood?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You leave in two hours.” with that, Vader marches out of the room and down the corridor, as though he has not condemned the trooper to banishment.

CC-2224 puts his helmet back on. Swallows. He isn’t sure what happened. He reported Kenobi’s location and Vader had denied it, calling him a liar. Seeing his face only confirmed what he thought, but it isn’t clear why he chose to not execute CC-2224 immediately for being defective. He is shocked Vader didn’t sense anything wrong other than the mention of Tatooine.

The members of his team turn to him, unsure how to—or if the even should—offer comfort.

“Shit,” their commander says. “What the kriff just happened? He just. Denies what you saw? ‘Cause you’re a clone?”

He shrugs. It is not uncommon. 

The taller stormtrooper chimes in. “Maybe it’s that Force mumbo-jumbo.”

“Still. Messed up you got banished. Why’d he want to see your face?”

“Oh yeah. You work together?”

This is the most any natborn troopers have spoken to CC-2224 since-well. Since _before._ “I-can’t remember.”

The others exchange looks, unsubtle in their unfamiliarity with wearing the helmets. “You don’t remember the wars?”

Jaw clenched, he answers. “Not really.”

The last trooper finally speaks up, asking “How’d you get your scar then?” and _kriff_ they sound so _young_ , not more than nine or whatever the natborn equivalent is.

He swallows. “I don’t remember.”

“No?”

“No.” CC-2224 does not want to stand here talking, so he turns on his heel and begins marching to the bunkroom. Ostensibly to collect his things but, really, he has nothing of worth and is being sent on a mission meant for exile or death. 

The young trooper and their tall companion scurry behind him, the commander lagging behind.

“Wait! What do you mean you don’t remember?” 

And he can’t help it, the deeply ingrained instinct to protect his vod’ika, so he turns and looks right where he knows their eyes are under the bucket. Darkness seeping away, leaving him with a near-blinding headache but able think more clearly despite it. “They took it away. All of us, in a blink, nothing but flesh-droids for this kriffing empire to manipulate like puppets.” ah, there’s the anger he’s been trying to ignore. It occurs to him he should be wary of who he tells about his malfunctions, but he’s been on a precipice for so long he doesn’t think he can stop himself. It won't matter soon anyway. They need to know they serve a false Empire, built on lies and betrayal and more than one genocide.

“I used to _be_ someone, like you. Like everyone else. You have a number?” a squeak, then quick nod in response. “You have a name other than that?” another nod.”a _family?”_ a hitch of breath, a slower nod. “ _I don’t know mine_ .” he breathes and steps back. “I know I had siblings, people dear to me. A _name_. But it was all taken away.” The fire in him is not dying, by settling down. This trooper too young to be shipped out is not the target of his fury. 

“Only realized I didn’t remember recently.” 

It’s the tall one who speaks first. “You said you were with the 212th under Kenobi’s command. Did you _want_ to kill him, when the order came down?”

The question steals his breath quicker than a punch to the gut. Did he want to kill Obi-Wan? Never. The answer is sudden and automatic, coming through the fog as cleanly as a searchlight. He doesn’t remember specifics but he knows that the war was almost _over._ There’s something there, in thinking of _after_ , that closes his throat almost as tightly as Vader’s force choke. There was promise in that word that had been shattered when he lost himself. He can’t seem to get the words out, that _of course I didn’t, I had had his six for three years and had to save him from himself more than a few times. He saved as many of my siblings he could. If it weren’t for the darkness I would have defected at the order, along with the rest of the vode. We were almost_ free _of a war none of us asked to be in, and_ something _would happen after. Something I was waiting for._ But all he says is 

“No.”

The young one hums in understanding, reaches out to touch his shoulder. “They said if enough recruits volunteered, they’d leave my town alone. I don’t believe them.”

He can only nod. They understand what he’s saying. The Empire lies. It hurts. It makes loyal soldiers turn on those they love by snatching away everything they are.

“What?” the tall one says. 

He gets only a shake of the head, and CC-2224 (what is his _name?_ ) turns to the supply room to collect anything that could be useful in his exile. He hears the young one say “later. He’s leaving.”

He is going back to Tatooine. Vader is sending him away as a punishment, but CC-2224 can see an opportunity in the sweeping dunes. The Empire believes him a loyal soldier, following pointless orders into the wastes of an insignificant Outer Rim planet, and he will let them believe that. 

The hermit is Kenobi, he is certain, too familiar to be anyone else. He needs to find him, and get the answers he has (it is _after the war_ ). Then, when he has a name he has forgotten, he will fade into the sands and the Empire will believe him dead, and he will be as free as one can be in the sands of Tatooine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: force choking, general post-order 66 trauma
> 
> Thank you for reading! if you liked please kudos/comment, or yell at me on [tumblr](https://findafight.tumblr.com)(which is also findafight) I love to hear from readers!! :)  
> I'm not sure when chapter two of this will be out, but know it will come eventually! it will have more obi wan and yearning I promise. (also Nara and Dolo the Banthas bc I love them and Obi-Wan deserves an emotional support heard of desert mammals)  
> edit: I'm having some formatting issues...my strikethroughs don't show up on mobile? very dissapointing. I'll try to figure out what's wrong


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhuhasiduh I've been having a pandemic breakdown for a while now so instead of doing actual things I need to I coped by writing...this. as you may have noticed the chapter count has gone up. because of reasons that will be apparent as you read. please enjoy Cody making friends.  
> tw for self worth issues, guilt, etc standard post knightfall feelings.

The clone who once had a name takes to being muscle at the spaceport in Mos Espa. He’s strong, and asks few questions, which the owners seem to like. It is unclear if they know he is a clone or even former Imperial (was he ever imp though? If he and his vode served unwillingly?). It doesn’t matter, he is paid and finds lodging in a boarding house for temporary workers. 

The bunkroom reminds him of times  _ before _ , sitting with siblings and joking or painting armour, a sense of camaraderie in sharing space and employment. People mostly keep to themselves, but often nod in acknowledgment in seeing someone familiar. It is...different from what the former trooper doesn’t-quite-remember, in terms of community, but it is not unpleasant. 

He spends days off keeping tabs on the hermit from a distance, not allowing himself lest he get too close and be detected  or hurt him.  There is not much else to do on the desert planet, and he doesn’t mind watching the man bumble through caring for his agropod and herd of banthas.

A torgurta has been working and bunking alongside him at the port, cheerful and spry, but doesn’t take shit from fussy merchants. He likes him, and something deep in his chest tells him that the only thing that kept him from weeping at first seeing him was that his skin is a deep blue, not orange like a padawan he almost remembers. He is young, and obviously nervous, but holds himself steadily and does not bend. The former trooper likes him, reminded of people he can’t quite recall.

It takes until the shift before they are both scheduled to have a day off for the togruta boy to strike. When there is half an hour left on the clock, he walks up to the clone and grins as he flips a lek over his shoulder. 

“So, old man, what’s your story?”

The boy only gets a blink in response. Though the Kaminii only had his vode accelerate in growth until mid-twenties to optimize peak physical years, he has lived a hard life and has grey at his temples yet it is how...casual the address that he is unused to. (Though he think he might not have been unfamiliar with it once)

“Seriously, we’ve worked together for what, two tendays now? I don’t even know your  _ name. _ ” the kid shakes his head, lek falling in front of his shoulder again. “Mine’s Keldek.” he punctuates it by sticking his hand out.

Automatically he takes and shakes the offering. Blinks again, because he has no name to give. The kid simply grins. 

“Ah, the strong, silent type, huh? Well, wanna go be silent with me at the bar? I hardly know anyone here and you seem like you’ve been around the moon a couple times and can keep people from bugging us?” It might be nice to sit with someone who isn’t so similar to him. Who seems to be able to keep conversation with themself and not require him to offer personal information he simply  _ doesn’t have. _

He hums before nodding. “Sure, why not.”

The kid’s eyes bulges and he grins widely before he skitters off to finish the last loading of his shift. He’s practically bouncing when they finally clock out and leads the way to the slightly-less-dingy bar down the street. They find a booth and slide in, the kid—Keldek he reminds himself—immediately orders two Corellian whiskeys. 

“No one in the house can figure out what your deal is.” 

“I don’t have a deal”

Keldek rolls his eyes. “ _ Everyone _ has a deal, especially if you’ve landed on this rock.”

“I...suppose so. What’s yours?”

The kid sips his whiskey, gesturing for him to take the second. “Fine, tit-for-tat? I can do that. I didn’t want to join the Imperial Academy,” disdain drips from his lips at the name. Once, what seems like eons ago, the contempt for the Empire would raise his hackles, but now he can’t help but agree. The Empire took too much from everyone it touched. “and they wouldn’t let me stay where I was. Been drifting the Outer Rim since, not a big enough deal for them to put a bounty on me, though. Your turn.”

The former trooper sighs. Half truths are easier to remember than lies, and he doesn’t have a lie worth sharing anyways. “I’m also...avoiding the Empire.” he cannot help gritting his teeth. “And looking for someone.”

The kid hums, and drops it. 

So, the routine begins. Every once in a while after they share a shift they’ll go out for a drink or two, Keldek grinning and talking at him for a while. The mechanic at their port will also join sometimes, the engine grease she can’t seem to wash off blending into her traditional Mirialan tattoos and creasing with her smile. Ileana is only slightly more talkative than him, but she will mutter comments under her breath about the shadier patrons that frequent their corner of space. 

And, of course, nearly everyday after work is spent alone in the dunes, covered by rough-sewn cloths and using macrobinoculars to avoid detection, checking the hermit is still there. He always is. 

He never goes to the hermit, though he knows he will have the answers the empire stole. He doesn’t think he could bear the coldness he rightly deserves on his General’s face. Couldn’t bear rejection even after the horrible things the Empire has had him do. 

It takes almost an entire month of socializing with Keldek and Ileana for him to kriff up. Well, to call it  _ kriffing _ up might be an exaggeration, but he really doesn’t appreciate extra attention.

They are sitting in their usual booth, the younger two teasing him about how they  _ still _ don’t know his name and only call him “old man” as he observes other patrons when it happens. He almost misses the sleek cylinder on the table, as careful as the owner is to keep wares hidden, but he sees it. A lightsaber being haggled over in a dark corner of the bar, which is disrespectful and illegal equally but not what stops him.

It’s fake. He isn’t sure how he knows, but he does. There’s no hum of kyber in it, singing towards it’s maker. If he were to hold it, there would be only metal in his hand, not the buzzing power of a Jedi’s blade. He is unsure why he knows what a lightsaber is like to hold (another thing on the long list he knows but doesn’t know  _ why  _ he knows) but he has held one many times. He’s seen and held the weapon of  _ his _ a jedi enough to have his subconscious know the feel of a humming and healthy kyber crystal.

Ileana snaps her fingers in front of his eyes, “Hey, spacing out on us, old man?”

He blinks unthinkingly. “It’s fake.”

She raises her eyebrows. “What?”

Nodding towards the smugglers across the bar, he answers quietly but honestly. “The lightsaber over there. It’s fake.”

Keldek has wide eyes looking at him. “How do you know?” 

“Real ones, you can feel them. They-hm-they sort of  _ buzz _ , if you know what you’re looking for. The kyber crystals give ‘sabers their power, and they hum or sing or whatever you want to call it. That one doesn’t even fizz, so it’s fake.”

Ileana looks at him sadly, and he knows he’s said to much. She knows  _ something _ , because who is he to know about lightsabers? A loader on a dust ball planet? There are questions she’ll have that he won’t be able to answer because he has the same ones. Keldek doesn’t notice the tension in the air. He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “How do you know all that about lightsabers? Are you a  _ Jedi? _ ”

He can’t help but scoff. “Not even close.”

“But you fought with them, didn’t you?” Ileana manages.

He looks down, traces patterns into the tabletop. “I think so.”

“What do you mean,  _ think?” _

Ileana slaps Keldek lightly on the arm and stands, “not the  _ place, _ kid. C’mon, old man, let’s head to my Grandmother’s place. We should talk.”

She doesn’t wait for either of them to get up, just turns around and weaves through the tables to the door. He shares a look with Keldek before standing and following her through Mos Espa’s sand-worn streets. The dwelling she leads them to is closer to the edge of town, level with the ground with an arched doorway. Silently, she gestures them to wait as she unlocks the door and calls inside.

“Gams, I brought some friends home!” She gestures for them to come in, and it takes a second to adjust to the darkness of the main living area. Ileana smiles but shrugs. “Bright light bothers Gams’ eyes. We keep it dark.”

On cue, an elderly Mirialan woman walks into view, slightly hunched but steady on her feet. Ileana hugs her in greeting, smiling as her grandmother touches her cheek softly. It’s intimate, and brings an unidentifiable ache in his chest. 

“These are a couple of my coworkers. Keldek and his housemate.” Kel waves in greeting, and is greeted with a nod in return, but the old woman seems to have her sights elsewhere.

“And your name, my dear?” it is not unkind, her tone, but clear she knows what he is. He doesn’t answer for a beat and she simply hums, giving him a small smile. “Please, sit, all of you. It seems there’s many things to speak about.”

Ileana sits on a cushion, back against the wall, Keldek follows her lead. “That’s...actually why we came here. I figured our friend had stuff to say and didn’t want half the rim to know within the tenday.”

“Yes, very good. I’ll get tea.”

He sits down stiffly on a cushion, slightly apart from Kel and Ileana. This isn’t going as badly as it could be, but he doesn’t trust that his luck will last. He accepts the tea offered, but doesn’t drink it past the first sip. The taste is heartbreakingly familiar and if he drinks any more he isn’t sure he won’t break down in this kind old woman’s home.

Finally, she gives Ileana her tea and settles in front of the three. He notices the tattoos on her forehead match Ileana’s but the rest across her cheeks and hands are different, farther reaching and more intricate, indicating age and experience over weathered hands. 

“So, young ones, what brings you here?”

Kel looks between him and Ileana, and blurts. “He knew that a lightsaber some smugglers were arguing over was fake.”

Gams only nods. No outrage. “Indeed? Tell me, how did you come to know about the weapon of the Jedi?”

He swallows, considers lying. But there’d be no point, something (the same something that told him the lightsaber was false) tells him Gams will know. So he tells the truth. “I don’t know.”

She lifts her eyebrow, and he can’t help but continue. “I only know that I held one, many times. It wasn’t mine. Just someone who’s—who was—who I knew. During the war.”

“Your general trusted you with their life. It is a great honour to hold the saber of a force user, even in times of peace. For one to trust in times of war, you must have been a most trusted friend.”

“I have not been honourable nor trustworthy since—in many years.”

She reaches out and pats his hand. “You are trying to reconcile the lies they used to poison your mind, with the truth your heart knows to be true.” She knows far more than anyone should know, let alone an elderly woman on Tatooine. He cannot break away from her. “Tell me. Have you followed their orders since arriving on Tatooine?”

Stiffly, without breaking her gaze, he shakes his head, and she grins. “See, honourable already. You are ashamed of a betrayal you did not wish to commit, and must forgive yourself.”

“I  _ can’t _ .” gets ripped out of him. 

“You may not now, but eventually, if you are to live a life worthy of living, you will.”

“I don’t deserve it, after all that I’ve done.”

She hums. “You do. I can sense it.”

He freezes, locks his muscles. The implication of her use of the Force clear, and though he doesn’t think he’ll attack the woman the possibility terrifies him. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone else.

Gams, of course, notices. She smiles, making her eyes crinkle. “I am not a jedi, though I almost became one. When the council came to my family, my parents wished to keep me. I was raised by them with the knowledge I could sense things others couldn’t.”

He nods. “I can’t remember my siblings’ names.” it is a nonsensical, intimate confession.

“I’m sorry. None of you deserved what the Empire gave you.”

There is silence, as he digests her words. Keldek’s voice cuts through the moment. “I’m sorry, but, uh, what the  _ kriff  _ are you talking about?”

Gams smiles and looks at him. “You should share your story with them. They mean no harm. My granddaughter brought you here to help, didn’t she?”

He doesn’t hesitate, needs to get it out of the way. “I’m a clone.”

Ileana nods, like she already knew. Considering her wide eyes at the bar, he supposes she did. Keldek seems stricken, only blinking between the three of them.

“Seriously!?”

He nods, staring at the floor. Once, he would have though there was no shame in being a clone, but he knows that was  _ before _ .

“But...that doesn’t make sense. You’re…. Like, I don’t…”

“Not what you were expecting from a  _ clone?” _ there’s bitterness in his tone that he cannot help, and only barely regrets.

“What? No! Well, yes, sorry-just. The clones turned on the Jedi, and you seem-uh- not like that kind of guy?”

“I’m not.”

“Then what happened?” A simple question with a complicated answer.

“The...emperor, he took us away. Erased us. Our bodies were still there but-but not our minds. He ordered us to-he declared the Jedi traitors.” He still cannot bring himself to say it. Ordered to  _ kill all Jedi _ . He does not mention the younglings. Cannot bear to think of what may have happened them himself. 

“So, how’re  _ you  _ here?”

He grips his teacup and breathes for a moment. Swallows. “I was sent to find my- the jedi General I fai-that got away from me. And I began to remember that I didn’t...remember.” it is the simplest explanation. He winces at the headache growing behind his eyes.

“And you decided to come here? Why?” Ileana asks, incredulous.

In for a chip, in for a credit. “I was assigned here, and when I reported to Vader, he sent me back. He recognized me…” The last bit is said more to the teacup than anyone in the room

Ileana gasps and runs out of the room, returning quickly with a rag and hands it to him. He takes it, confused. 

“Your nose is bleeding.” and sure enough, when he puts the rag up to his face and pulls away to look at it, there’s a red stain. He nods in thanks before leaning forward and pinching.

Kel stares. “Darth Vader  _ recognized you? _ From the Clone Wars?”

“I...think so. He. He wanted Kenobi.” It is the first time he’s said the name since returning to Tatooine, and it feels too much like a comfort he doesn’t deserve. 

“General Kenobi? Is that who got away from you?” 

He nods.

“Holy kark, old man. Who  _ are _ you?”

He grins sardonically. “I’d also like to know that.”

“You don’t…you really don’t have a name, do you?”

He shakes his head. “I used to.” it’s disconcerting, knowing he had one, something given and chosen in equal measure, that is out of his grasp. Another thing the empire took from him.

Ileana’s frown deepens. “If you were looking for Kenobi, you’d’ve had to be under his command. He was a High General and worked with a lot of people. If Vader recognized you, then you were high up enough to be close to him and recognizable…” She stares him, like he’s a puzzle she can solve. “What was your designation?”

Freezing, he clenches his jaw. He will not say it, he will never go by it again even if he never recalls his real name.

She waves her hands, fluttering in front of him like she isn’t sure she is allowed touch like her grandmother is. “I’m sorry, kriff, you don’t have to tell me. That was insensitive of me. I’m sorry.”

Kel sighs. “Guess will stick with ‘old man’ ‘till you find this general of yours.”

Gams has been staring at him, smiling softly when he bites his lip. “Ah, you have already found him, haven’t you?”

Ileana stares at her grandmother, aghast. 

The man can only nod affirmative. 

“Why haven’t you gone to him, then?” Kel asks softly. 

He looks down, unable to look at these people (these  _ friends?) _ as he makes his confession. 

“I ordered him to be shot down. Killed. He was imp-he trusted me and something in me went blank and ordered him shot down. I do not deserve his forgiveness.”

“That is not all. Why else?”

His voice is quiet now, not that of the Marshall Commander of a third of the GAR, but of a man broken without his own knowledge. “Gams-I. I do not know what will happen if l get what I deserve. I will be without anyone who knows who I am.”

Gams sighs and pats his arm. “If he is the man you think he is, will he turn you away? A friend who was lost for so long? A soldier weary of a war they didn’t ask for? No. He will welcome a friend he thought gone.”

His fingers twist in discomfort, not wanting such easy forgiveness for the betrayal. “I don’t deserve it. Nor do I deserve your kindness.”

The old woman smiles, bright and wide. “Ah, but it is given all the same. Just as your Jedi will give his forgiveness, if he even thinks it warranted.” She sighs and gets up, “Now. You should rest. Go to him when you are ready, but go to him. I cannot begin to understand the pain you’ve been through, but know what it is to find a friend I once thought gone. 

“You and your siblings,” shakes her head, “More cultures were lost on Empire Day than the genocide of the Jedi. There is no glory in the Empire.” it is said fiercely, leaving no room for argument.

Something catches in his chest at her words. Something deep in his being nearly singing at the words . There is no glory in the Empire.

_ No, _ he thinks _ , there isn't, anymore.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See.....the OCs....they took over. I resisted making stormtrooper OCs in chapter 1 (lol no I didn't I just copy-pasted into a different doc for later) but I love kindly Tatooine locals and Cody making friends who look at this tired man riddled with PTSD and memory loss and go "okay so I'm adopting you as my big brother now and am going to show my love by talking loudly at you" and Cody's big brother instinct is too strong to NOT accept this position.  
> I heckin SWEAR Obi-Wan WILL be in the next chapter. I promise. okay. HE WILL despite popular opinion I do have a vague plan for this fic.  
> anyways. Please comment/kudos. I thrive on positive encouragement and engagement. visit my tumblr to talk about this fic too because i have IDEAS (stormtrooper OCs I see you, baby luke.......Nara and Dolo the Banthas) and want to yell about them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! if you liked please kudos/comment, or yell at me on [tumblr](https://findafight.tumblr.com)(which is also findafight) I love to hear from readers!! :)  
> 


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